Beacon Hills High is way too quiet for a Tuesday.

Which means something is wrong.

You’re sitting on the hood of Stiles’ Jeep in the parking lot long after the final bell rang, arms crossed, staring at nothing in particular. The sky is turning that deep orange that makes everything look calm — fake calm.

Stiles is pacing.

Which is never a good sign.

“Okay,” he says, hands flying as he talks. “So either there’s a new supernatural murder creature lurking in the woods, or you’re avoiding me, which honestly? I’m offended by both options.”

You sigh dramatically. “You always assume it’s murder first.”

“Because it usually is,” he shoots back. “You live in Beacon Hills. We don’t get normal problems. We get claws and glowing eyes and emotional trauma.”

You hop off the hood, stepping in front of him so he stops pacing.

“I’m not avoiding you,” you say, softer now. “I just… needed space.”

His sarcasm fades a notch. “Space from me?”

“From everything,” you correct. “From Scott’s alpha stress. From Lydia’s banshee headaches. From you almost getting killed every other week.”

He opens his mouth to argue — then pauses.

“You think I don’t notice?” you continue, voice tightening. “Every time you run toward danger like you’ve got something to prove. You’re human, Stiles. You don’t heal like they do.”

“I’m not fragile,” he says quickly.

“I didn’t say you were.” You step closer, eyes steady on his. “I said I’m scared.”

That hits.

The wind moves through the empty parking lot, carrying the distant sound of a lacrosse ball bouncing somewhere on the field.

“I can’t lose you,” you admit quietly. “And sometimes it feels like you don’t care if I do.”

His face shifts — sarcasm gone completely now.

“That’s not fair,” he says, but there’s no bite in it. “I care. I care too much, actually. It’s kind of my whole personality.”

You give a weak smile. “Then stop pretending you’re invincible.”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “You want me to just… what? Stay in the Jeep while everyone else fights?”

“I want you to come back to me,” you reply. “Every time.”

Silence hangs between you — heavy but honest.

Stiles steps closer, voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “You’re not fine either, you know.”

You swallow. “I never said I was.”

The tension isn’t supernatural this time.

It’s real.